


With Reckless Abandon

by starryeyedboxes



Series: With Reckless Abandon [1]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-07 02:01:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedboxes/pseuds/starryeyedboxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Musician!Jack and Writer!Mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of an Era

Mark sat in the back of the diner, his pen twirling in between rough knuckles and exhausted fingers. He was looking down at the blank notebook in front of him, his bottom lip sucked in between teeth. It had been a long night for him as crumpled balls of paper surrounded him, the waiter who he learned had the lovely name of Jack continuously bringing him coffee each time his mug ran low.

When the writer looked out the window, he noticed the faint streaks of orange spreading across the sky, the sun beginning to reveal itself for another day. The last time Mark looked up, it had still been midnight. As he ran his hand over his tired face, he inhaled a deep breath through his nose, the aroma of his coffee filling his lungs.

It had been quite the night.

As he leaned back in the booth to stretch out his limbs, he threw his head back and rested it on top of the wooden ledge that was the back of his seat. As he stared at the ceiling, he heard a slight chuckle from beside him and saw the beautiful Jack walking over, a dazzling smile revealed on his face.

As he stepped in front of the table, Mark noticed he was in regular attire.

"Oh, your shift ending?" The writer questioned, picking his pen up again and twirling it in between two fingers. "I'd love to leave your tip before you go."

"No, well, I mean it is the end of my shift but that's not why I came back. Someone else will be taking over your table." He looked away for a moment, barely noticeable, but Mark picked up on it fairly quickly. "I was wondering if it was okay if I sat with you for a while."

Quirking an eyebrow, Mark leaned forward on the table, his elbows resting on top as he rested his chin on his hands. "Really?"

"If that's alright with you. My ride doesn't come for a bit. I normally wait in my own booth at eat breakfast, but I really enjoyed your company during the night shift."

There was a subtle hit of uncertainty in his expression. The writer was able to recognize it, and he sighed, but for some reason, a part of him was relieved to have another presence with him. He really needed it right now.

"Of course, of course! Take a seat. Sorry for the paper wads. Just push them aside."

With an eager smile, Jack did as instructed and slid in across from him, pushing his sleeves up on his arms. Mark's eyes trailed over each movement the waiter did, his thick eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration as he delicately moved the paper balls on the table instead of pushing them aside, the way his nose slightly crinkled when he reached under the table to even pull up the ones on the floor, and even the way his free hand slightly drummed on the table in an odd pattern.

"You a drummer?" Mark questioned, his eyes fixated on the dancing fingers. When his questioned finished, those fingers immediately stopped moving.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"You're drumming on the table. It isn't mindless tapping, though. There is a rhythm. Although, it was more of a wild guess than anything."

As Jack finished his mission of saving all of the crumpled pages, Mark let the silence fill around them again as he sat there just watching. A few moments passed, but eventually he spoke again.

"Is that why you're working here?"

"Yeah," the waiter admitted, his eyes focusing on the man sitting across from him. "I work here while I'm pursuing music with my band."

Mark simply nodded and looked back down at his notebook. He had made a pretty good dent into his story but nowhere near where he wanted. He desperately needed something to bring his story to life, but the only things that stared back at him were empty words.

"That must be exciting."

"You know what may be a little bit more exciting?" Mark looked up at Jack's question. He noticed Jack was leaning in, a smug smile on his pale face. "You now know what brought me here, but what about you, mister? What brings you here?"

The writer immediately paused, his eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. His heart felt heavy, but he looked Jack straight in the eye. If he could be honest about his musical ambitions, Mark could be truthful as well. It was likely that he wouldn't see him again regardless. What would the chances be?

"I ran into someone from my past yesterday afternoon," Mark commented, rubbing his chin, the stubble tickling his palm. "It was an awful thing. It hurt a lot, and it made me question where I was headed in my life. As you can tell, I'm a writer. I need to progress."

A waitress came who smiled at Jack curiously before placing two plates of food on the table and providing two more cups of coffee. Mark quirked an eyebrow at the musician who merely smiled in return as the beautiful woman retreated.

"You haven't eaten," he commented as he stuck his fork into one of the streaming pancakes. "I've been serving you all night and not once did you order real food. S'on me. Don't worry."

Mark picked up a fork and took a bite of the food generously placed in front of him.

"I'm assumin' you ran into an ex girlfriend?"

Looking back up, the writer merely smiled. "Of sorts. Try ex boyfriend."

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Jack peered up from his black coffee and smiled. "I see."

"Well, it wasn't pleasant. He had cheated on me a while ago and I thought I was fine until I ran into him on the street. It sent me over the edge. I needed to fuel my writing. I have to make it big to prove what he's missing out on-"

"Hey," Jack interrupted, settling his black mug in the table once more. He reached over to grab some of the sugar packets by the end and Mark couldn't help but observe the fluid motion, his eyes tracing the man's very outline. "That's somewhat of a great attitude you got going on there, but above all, you should be doing it for yourself, not to prove others wrong. You should do it because you want to, not because it's about grounding others into the dirt. Although, that man must've been a dick for leaving someone as handsome and I'm assuming talented as you are."

Glancing back down at his own mug, Mark ran his index finger on the rim, tracing the circular shape, feeling the steam warm up his skin. For a moment, he saw his reflection in the black drink. A tired man looked back at him.

"I drum for myself. A lot of people told me not to pursue music because it was an awful career path to want to do. It's because it's so hard to make it big. But I do it not to prove them wrong, but to do it for myself. Proving everyone else wrong is extra."

Jack had already mowed through half of his plate by the time Mark was finally able to find his voice. They had been sitting in silence for a few minutes as he cycled through his thoughts, and he felt slightly defeated. All he could think of was how much of a fraud he felt. Maybe that's why he couldn't find inspiration for his stories.

It wasn't for him. It was to get rights to boast.

"I suppose so," was all he could muster.

"Just remember that if it's a dream of yours, only you can pursue it. If everyone else loves it but you aren't feeling it, it isn't going to matter at the end of the day. If you're not happy, it's all for shit."

When Mark looked back up from his intense gaze downward, his exhausted brown eyes met passionate blue ones. There was a certain exhilaration from Jack that he didn't realize he envied until now. He so badly needed that excitement right now, but it was pleasing to know that he was feeding off of the waiter's energy. Jack grinned when he noticed Mark staring at him, and the writer couldn't help but give an ever-so-tiny smile in return.

"And where'd you learn such wise advice, hm?"

"I've been through a lot of it, and as we've established, aspiring musician here," Jack noted, pushing his empty plate to the side and leaning his elbows back on the table so he could rest his chin in his hands. "It's something I've had to learn fairly early on. It's because of that epiphany that I'm still on this path. I would've quit a long time ago."

"Why do you want to be a musician so badly?" Mark questioned, unconsciously leaning forward as well, even if it was so slightly. "How do you know for sure it's what you want?"

"Do you not know if being a writer is what you want to do?" Mark shook his head to this question. "I know because it's something I live and breathe. It's in my veins. I love music, it's all I do. If I can combine what I want to do with somehow making money off of it, then I will. This diner stuff is hopefully temporary."

"That's fairly admirable."

With a smug smile, he pointed his index finger towards Mark as he finished the rest of his coffee.

"It's harder for those of us who pursue unconventional careers. We all gotta stick together, you know. It's difficult for us. And I can see," he motioned to all of the wads of paper surrounding them, "that you know what you're doing. I believe your heart just isn't exactly in the right place right now. But I can tell it normally is. Yesterday just threw you off, eh?"

With a small nod, Jack smiled.

"Exactly. So, my advice, is do what you love. Don't follow some shit career path that you don't want. We only get this life. It'd be a shame if we fucked it up by not living it the way we wanted."

"It's not that easy," Mark commented quickly, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He looked out the window again and realized that the sun was much higher in the sky than when he last looked at it. "It's hard to make a living nowadays."

"True," he commented in return. "But, look around. This is where I work to support myself. It ain't a good paying job, I make minimum wage plus tip I split everyone. It's enough for my college classes and to help pay for my share of the rent with some roommates, but I can tell you one thing. I'm much happier struggling but doing what I love than I ever was pursuing the notion of being anything else. I bounced around a lot from jobs and majors, but I'm happier now."

Mark soaked in the vivid words, his bottom lip sucked in between his teeth again. His lip was slightly swelled from it, but he didn't realize what he was doing as he listened to Jack's tale.

"Pursue what you want with reckless abandon," the musician concluded as he slid out from the booth. "My ride's here in the parking lot. I got band practice to head to. Wanna come?"

Mark looked around at the disaster he left behind. "I'm not sure."

"Well, I'm working again tonight. If you'd like, feel free to stop by again."

The writer looked up with pursed lips but he simply smiled. Looking at such energetic eyes gave him a warm feeling within. It was like a small flame had ignited inside his heart, but he felt it there. He knew it.

"I didn't catch your name."

"Mark. Mark Fischbach."

"I'm Sean McLoughlin. Call me, Jack, yeah? Hopefully I'll see you tonight?"

Mark pondered this for a bit, tossing the thought around for a while. "I'll be here."

"Request my name when you walk in. They'll sit you in my section, alright? See you then... Mark."

He watched Jack walk away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. When Mark turned back around, he looked down at his notebook, scowled, and ripped off the few pages he had managed to conquer. Crumpling them just like he had with the others, he clicked his pen open, and pulled the notebook closer, carefully making sure he didn't get it near his still full plate.

He quickly scrawled letters on the top margin in beautiful purple ink.

_With Reckless Abandon._


	2. Inspire Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this was fairly short but it seemed like the perfect place to end it.

Mark tossed his pen into the air and stretched his hand out to retrieve it on its descent back down. As his palm faced upwards prepared to catch it, he blinked harshly when he saw a flash of movement in front of him, his hand catching nothing. Moving his gaze across the table, he saw Jack twirling his pen with two fingers, a smirk on his delicate face.

“Well, Mr. Fischbach,” he started. “I wouldn’t call this productive.”

Observing his companion with watchful eyes, Mark leaned back into his side of the booth, feeling his back relax from its tension. It had been another long night, and much to his delight, filled with the drummer’s presence. It had been a few days since their first encounter, but Mark had come every night since. He would sit all night while Jack waited tables and Mark would work on his stories, then proceed to interact with him whenever he was able to (which was quite often considering it was a night shift). 

“I suppose not,” the writer muttered in return, taking a sip of the coffee Jack had learned to prepare to utter perfection for his tastes. His glasses fogged up slightly from the steam. “But I’m stuck. Not sure what I can do about that.” 

The drummer pressed his palms on the table after he pushed the pen aside and leaned over to view Mark’s scribbled notebook. He merely caught the title but he was too slow as it was quickly snatched away from his curious blue eyes. 

“Hey!”

 _“Hey!”_ The older of the two returned, a firm but playful expression on his face. “I’m not comfortable with it yet.”

Sitting back down in his seat and rolling the sleeves up on his black sweater, Jack simply smiled. “Well, one day you’ll have to be, you know. Your writing will be out for the world to see of course.”

“Ah, but here is where you’re wrong,” Mark corrected as he sat his notebook back down, flipping the cover up to conceal his words. “Writers publish what they like, not what they’re uneasy about.”

Grumbling from his side of the table, Jack looked out the window at dawn breaking through the city buildings. The writer followed his gaze and sighed when he saw the familiar but beautiful streaks of warm color begin to spread across the sky. It was a sight he had seen for the last couple days but it still seemed brand new to him the few times he witnessed it.

“So,” Jack finally interrupted, setting his mug back down from drinking his own coffee. Mark watched as his new friend picked up another sugar packet to use. “Tell me about this ex of yours, eh?”

Mark immediately froze, his eyes staring at the musician’s fingers tearing apart the paper, the sugar crystals pouring into the blackened pool within the cup. His throat dried slightly but he nodded regardless, refusing to let poor thoughts get the better of him.

“His name was Evan,” he mumbled, rubbing his arms. “We were together for three years and as I’ve mentioned before, he cheated on me with an old friend from his past. I didn’t even leave. He did. He left two years after that for a coworker.” 

Quirking an eyebrow, Jack stirred his cup thoughtfully. “Seems rough.”

“It was. It’s almost been a year since he left, so I’m fine now. It’s just hard to talk about. I went through a lot after that.”

“Use it.”

“What?”

“You’re stuck, right? Use that in your story,” the drummer held up his index finger, a bright smile playing on his lips. “You’re struggling, right, Fischbach? Well, easy enough, use your surroundings and experiences for your characters. Typically speaking, the details are a lot more believable since you’ve lived them.” 

“I know that,” he defended honestly. “But what makes you say that?”

“I had an ex-boyfriend myself,” he carefully noted, his eyes heavy on Mark for some unnoticed reason. Mark couldn’t pinpoint why, but it was as if Jack was being extremely cautious about the entire situation. “He was a writer as well. I picked up a few things, I guess.”

“Do you write?”

“Not particularly. The only thing I write is music which isn’t the same writing you’re talking about.”

“I guess not,” Mark muttered, his eyes still connecting with bright blue ones. “Jack?”

He heard a hum in response. 

“Yeah?”

“Are we friends?”

Letting out a small laugh, the drummer raised an eyebrow, his hands folded in front of him. “I would assume so. I mean there must be _some_ reason you’ve come to visit me every night the last few days after all.”

Rolling the words around in his head, Mark thought for a few moments in the silence that followed them. Jack didn’t seem to think much of it as he finished off his stack of pancakes, the syrup sticking to his short beard slightly. He wiped it away, frustrated, and Mark let out a deep breath. 

“Remember how you offered to bring me to band practice the other day?”

“I do.”

“Why did you?”

“I thought that it would be good for you.” Jack swiped a piece of bacon off of Mark’s plate like he had done the last few days. Mark never ate them anyway. He always preferred the sausage links instead. “Change of environment. What kind of stuff do you write anyway?”

“Horror,” Mark responded, stealing his own helping of links off of the other’s plate. “Mostly horror or short story.” 

“Oh,” the drummer cooed with a smug grin. “We got a Lovecraft-er over here?”

“For someone who doesn’t seem to be into writing and literature much, you sure do seem to know quite a bit, don’t you think?”

The two laughed but Jack quickly looked away for a brief moment. When they locked gazes again, he simply smirked once more.

“Writer ex-boyfriend, remember?” But there was something off to his tone.

“I want to come with you to band practice,” Mark quickly interjected, disregarding his detection of Jack's falter, his hands nervously clenched above his knees but still underneath the table so his friend couldn’t see the nervousness he felt. “If that’s okay.”

The drummer picked up the pen again and began twirling it through his calloused fingers once more. It was a habit that caused him to wonder if Jack had picked it up on his own or if he had learned the quirk from Mark. Regardless, it was something he found them both doing from time to time. 

“You want to come meet everyone?” 

“I’m interested,” he admitted, his brown eyes scanning the younger man’s face for any sign of rejection. “I was curious the first time you offered but it was odd running off with a man I had only known for a night.”

“But knowing someone for four days changes that?”

“Not entirely, but we do spend a lot of time with one another, don’t you think?" With a suggestive nod from his friend, Mark laughed. "But, here’s the thing. You say you invited me to spark some inspiration, right?” When the other nodded a second time, he continued. “Well, I’ll definitely take you up then. _Inspire me_ , Jack McLoughlin.”

“Alright,” he nodded, tossing the pen across the table. Mark caught it without much thought. “Under one condition, Lovecraft.” 

“Lovecraft?”

Ignoring his friend’s confusion of the newly awarded nickname, the musician rested his elbows on the top of their table, leaning forward slightly. “I’ll do you one even better. I’ll let you come meet the guys and see what goes on behind the scenes of this ‘oh-so-crazy’ musician’s life I live under one condition.” 

“That being?”

“Each time I take you on these little adventures to see what we do, I want to see a glimpse into _your_ world.” 

“What does that even mean?” 

Jack looked out the window again, the sun making its way up on the sky. The usual blue was beginning to take over the entire landscape and he smiled, still looking through the glass as he spoke.

“Take me on a ride. I may not be a writer, but you are, so you have the ability to show me things I haven’t experienced. So my one request is that you write something after every single time we’re out. It can be a page long or a whole fucking novel, I don’t care. But you need to produce something from it. 

“Really now?” 

“You don’t have to show me immediately or anything, but I do hope to read it when you _want_ me to see it.”

Wondering why his friend was so enamored by the thought, Mark almost questioned further. But instead, opted to watch Jack shuffle to the edge of the booth to slide out. He threw a five dollar bill on the table with a few one dollar bills, and looked at the writer who was still sitting down, a confused look to him.

“You coming or what, Lovecraft? My ride’s here.”


	3. Oceans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprising trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is like a month and a half late... Haha. But I decided to set an actual schedule for this. I'll be aiming for every Sunday being an update. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this! I hope you enjoy!

Jack was incredibly talented. In fact, that was an understatement. 

His hands flew across his set wildly, his legs pumping to fuel the heavy double bass. Mark was incredibly entranced by these movements as his hands settled over the noise reducing headphones Jack had provided. 

There was slight perspiration trickling down his temple as his bottom lip was in between his teeth. Mark noticed a slight coat of blood, likely from Jack biting too hard as he concentrated on a fast pace. 

He had learned some things in terms of Jack's drum set. The writer learned what the crash was, why Jack used double bass instead of single, what the hi-hat was used for, and joked about how the seat was called the throne. Mark had made a comment calling Jack a king because of it. 

Mark had familiarized himself with the band, although not much. The singer and second guitarist's name was Dan, the first guitarist was Felix, and the bassist was Ken. Their practice space reeked of testosterone, but there was still a welcoming atmosphere about the entire place.

"How'd you like it?" Dan questioned as he slipped onto the couch next to Mark while the other guys worked on tuning their instruments do a different key. "Hope it's not too bad."

"It's actually really good," Mark commented, sliding the headphones off his head. "I do admit I don't really listen to this kind of music, but damn, this is pretty catchy."

Dan gave a really warm smile before running his hand through the dark lion's mane on his head. Mark's heart leaped when Jack appeared from his left side, startling him as he sat on the couch's arm.

"You talkin' 'bout me?" He patted Mark's shoulder roughly. "I can't leave you alone for more than two seconds."

"You wish," Dan commented, his laugh ringing through the practice space. "But it seems like your friend here really enjoys our music."

"Is that so, Lovecraft?"

Mark laughed at the name, but his throat was awfully dry at the social interaction surrounding him. He was never really good with strangers, but he would be lying if he said Dan wasn't making it easier for him. There was something about his presence, as well as the rest of the band's, that made the weight slightly better.

It was also comforting that Jack was next to him, his familiar presence very welcoming.

"Lovecraft?" Mark looked up to see it was Felix who questioned the nickname. "What's this about Lovecraft?"

"Oh, he's actually a writer," Jack boasted, his tone somewhat sounding like a prideful father. Mark shrunk into the couch slightly, his cheeks flushed. "He's into horror, so I call him Lovecraft."

"Aw," Ken cooed, finally chiming in as he looked up from placing his bass onto a black stand. "Seems like Jack has already found his little boyfriend a nickname."

Mark's face deepened in color, but Jack simply gave a hearty laugh before flipping his band mate off, the room filling with laughter. 

 

When Mark left the practice space, he realized he was slightly refreshed at the cooling air outside. It was about six in the afternoon, and he looked at Jack who was looking more tired by the minute. 

"You ready to hit the hay?" Mark questioned as the two headed down the parking lot. It was Felix who had picked the two up from the coffee shop, but he had decided to stay behind to work on some music while Jack and Mark left. "You seem exhausted."

Stretching his arms into the air, Jack twisted his body slightly, his shirt hiking up to reveal a part of his hips. Mark turned his head away, his eyes trying to focus on something else. 

"You get used to it. School, work, band practice? It's a never ending cycle."

The sun had mostly set, the sky barely holding any light. It was a little past twilight, and Mark felt the pleasant breeze against his skin as they slowly walked down the sidewalk. 

"Want me to walk you home? You don't have work tonight right?"

"No. I only go to work on weeknights. I can walk you home if you'd like."

"I'm fine with either."

"Let me walk you home," Jack said, looking at Mark from the corner of his eyes. "Unless you don't want to go home. Do you go to school soon?"

"I do on Mondays and Wednesdays," he responded, pretending not to notice the heavy gaze. "I'm fine to do something with you, if that's what you're asking. It's the weekend."

Jack broke out in a grin as his thick eyebrows rose. "Well, I have an idea, Lovecraft?"

"What is it, King?" Mark nudged Jack's elbow with his, to which he was greeted with a snort.

"That's an awful nickname."

"Yet it's yours anyway."

Jack simply patted the writer's back, his laughter echoing into the air. The two didn't say anything further, but Mark followed Jack's direction, letting the man lead the way. They hopped on a bus, Jack paying for both their fares, and sat patiently underneath the awful lighting.

In a half hour or so, he was surprised to see where the two had ended up. He recognized it as Newport Beach, his senses filling with the salty air. 

It was fairly busy tonight, people filling the streets and bars that were on the small strip of businesses, but Jack led him off the bus and towards the sand in the opposite direction. His short grey-streaked hair slightly whipping in the sea breeze.

"The beach? Why'd we come this way?"

He trotted a little to keep up with the drummer's eager pace. The air was still warm, the pleasant weather caressing his face, a feeling of comfort washing over him. He had been feeling drained as he hung out with Jack's band today, but as he heard the waves lapping at the shore and tasted the sea salt on his tongue, Mark realized he had calmed down dramatically. 

"It's a good place to unwind," Jack informed, casting a glance at his friend who was a few steps behind him. "Plus, have you ever gone swimming at night?"

"In a _pool_ , yes," Mark mumbled, slipping his shoes off in defeat as they weighed his steps down. "Never in the ocean. That seems awfully dangerous."

"It's fun." The Irishman's voice had a happy tone to it, a smile completely evident. "Trust me, it's one of the best feelings. The water will be cold at first, but since the ocean retains heat from the day and takes a while to cool down, it is actually warmer than you think."

"You seem to know your stuff."

"Yeah. I used to do this often."

The pair finally reached the shoreline, the water was high on the sand, it being at a much higher level than it would be during the day, but the waves weren't too extreme. There was something absolutely serene about the situation, the night sky above, the warm air, the emptiness of the beach as everyone crowded on the boardwalk. 

Mark almost yelped when he saw Jack stripping off his jeans before he pulled his shirt off his head. 

"You mean we're _actually_ going in?"

His cheeks warmed as the drummer stood on the sand just in his black boxers. 

"Of course, Lovecraft!" Jack cast him a look with a raised eyebrow. "Hope you're not going in fully dressed. You'd get all of your clothes wet."

Nervously fumbling with his jeans and the rest of his attire, he neatly folded them, much unlike Jack who had just tossed it aside into the sand, and felt a shiver run down his spine as he also stood in his underwear. This was completely out of character for him. He wasn't used to doing things like this. 

"I'm cold."

"You're going to be even colder in the water when we get in." Before Mark could voice another complaint, Jack wrapped his fingers around his wrist, a comforting smile surfacing on his lips. "Just know that if you absolutely want to leave, let me know. But at least try this first."

"Well, I'm already undressed. I can't say no."

With a loud laugh, Jack lightly pushed his companion towards the water. "Yes, you are. And may I say you look quite fine in just your underwear?"

"What are you talking about--"

And with a hard shove, Jack pushed him into the high tide, Mark falling into the salt water, the cold engulfing him as he quickly hit the bottom. They were obviously still close to the shore, so when Mark hurriedly stood up, the water only rose to his hips. 

He shivered. "Why would you throw me in like that!?"

But he wasn't given an answer as Jack jumped in, his body also going underneath the surface. When he came up for air, he met Mark's trembling body with an arm around his shoulders. 

"You that cold?"

"I'm dying. I think ice is forming in my lungs."

"Just come on! Let's battle the waves!"

"Are you crazy!?"

But yet again, the writer didn't receive a response. He watched with widened eyes and Jack swam out to the waves and dove underneath when one neared him. The wave crashed and soon after, he resurfaced, waving at Mark who was still stuck in the shallow end. 

"The water gets warmer the more you move!" He called, waving his hands above his head. He was absolutely drenched, but his grin was as bright as could be. "Come on!"

With a deep breath, Mark swam out to where Jack was, and dove underneath the water with him when the next wave had come. 

He felt the pressure of the moving water overhead, the force pushing him around slightly. But it was adrenaline inducing, a large smile breaking when he met Jack back up at the top. Wiping the salt from his eyes, Mark laughed. 

"I can't deny that I'm having fun."

There was a look on Jack's face that Mark couldn't pinpoint. It looked warm and tentative, but his eyes soon widened and his smile deepened, breaking the moment.

"Down!"

Without thinking twice, Mark dove underneath again, the dark water completely shielding him from seeing what was in front of him. Although, there was no reason to look around underwater anyway considering the sea salt would simply irritate his eyes. 

As he broke the surface again, he noticed he was incredibly close to Jack. In fact, they were so close that their shoulders brushed slightly.

The Irishman faced Mark and placed a hand on his bare shoulder. There was a look between them-- one that caused a warm sensation to run through his veins. With half-lidded eyes, he stared at the musician whose bright, wild eyes searched his face for a few moments. Silence hung between them, but they both snapped out of their shared daze when a roar was approaching, the next wave coming close.

Jack pulled away and slicked his wet hair back, freeing his face entirely. He gave a side look at Mark who was left staring in the opposite direction as if nothing had happened at all.

"Ready, Lovecraft?"

"Sure thing."

And they went under yet again. As Mark came back up, he noticed Jack was several feet away from him this time, his gaze fixated on the ocean ahead of them. 

They didn't speak of that moment the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off another lyric prompt that my new friend Bandit sent in, but I was so engrossed by the concept that I decided to make this a legitimate story. This will be my first multi-chapter story in years, so hopefully this turns out well!


End file.
